Soft spots
by Inkpot satsuma
Summary: Castiel loves all of Dean's body, but there are some spots he has a special liking for. Cute, fluffy Destiel one-shot. Set in s9, after Dean brings Cas back to the Bunker for permanent, because this freaking HAS TO happen!


**Just a cute little idea that's been floating around my head, and I finally got it out :) And because I need a ton of emotional soothers after the trauma of 9x03! *uncontrollable sobbing***

**So yes, here we go! :) I hope you'll enjoy.**

**Please review :D**

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Dean has a pleasant amount of body fat.

Certain areas of his flesh are softened, supple with the healthy tissue, giving in tautly under Castiel's fingers if he presses down gently, and Castiel loves those areas just as much as he loves all the rest of Dean's well-maintained, honed body. It's a testament of health and his beloved's affection for pie and burgers, and sometimes, in quiet, private moments, usually in tranquillity and laziness, Castiel likes to explore those soft spots of Dean's flesh.

Now is one of such moments, with Dean deeply asleep in the morning hours, half of his face buried in the white pillow as he lies on his side, facing Castiel, their legs tangled together under the covers. One of Dean's arms is tucked under the pillow, while the other is thrown loosely over Castiel's waist, and Castiel closes his eyes for a moment, directing all of his newly shifted human sense of touch into that spot, soaking up the pleasant weight draped over his side.

His own hands wander slowly, idly over Dean's body, covering small areas and mapping out the well known shapes, curves and lines. His eyes flutter open, and he smiles a little way, gazing at his beloved – he is still soundly asleep, the dark chocolate lashes laid on copper-speckled cheeks, his lips pinkish with sleep and parted in even, calm breaths, ones coming from a sort of peace and deep relaxation that Dean deserves to experience so much more often than he does. His short hair is mussed and shifting in hues between light brown, sandy blonde and brushed with just a teasingly elusive tinge of red if the light falls just right into the spiky strands. His skin has a delicate, honeyed hue which cuts so pleasantly against the white sheets bunched low around his hips unmarred by underwear or any other sort of clothing.

Castiel feels at peace. It does not happen often since his abrupt (to say the least) transition into humanity. Granted, as an angel he hadn't known much peace either, especially in the latest years, but his humanity had added only so much more tension and discomfort, of both physical and emotional nature. However, ever since his – definitive, this time – return to the Men of Letters Bunker (or 'the Batcave', as his beloved is fond of calling it for whatever mysterious reason) and the shift in his relationship with Dean towards being Mates, Castiel feels peace more often than he used to. Especially at times such as now – after a nightmare-less night (still a rarity for both him and Dean), waking up warm and contented in the morning, with residual, humming relaxation and tingle of pleasure from the night's lovemaking, and seeing Dean still asleep or awake. Or on the sofa, watching another one in the vast assortment of movies that Dean and Charlie (back from her adventures in Oz) had deemed necessary for Castiel's education. Or cooking by Dean's side, working as a tandem to bring together a meal for their family of four – five, if Charlie happens to stop by.

Yes, now is a moment of peace, and Castiel smiles, breathing a slow, contented sigh, his lips parting in a small grin as he slides his left hand down Dean's side slowly. His fingers trail over the hipbone, and move behind it, along the back of Dean's pelvis and just above his rear. It's a soft area, the flesh deliciously supple with the small, healthy amount of body fat, and Castiel presses his fingertips into the golden skin. He feels it stretch and dip, a delectable balance of resistance and compliance, and he moves his fingers a little further, again pressing the pliant flesh.

Dean breathes a small sigh through his slumber, and Castiel smiles, leaning in to brush their noses together, as Dean does sometimes when he's being tender and they are alone. Dean's eyelids flutter a little, but he remains asleep.

Castiel gently skirts his fingers down, over the enticing curve of Dean's rear, to his thigh where he presses once more, though lighter, not wanting to wake his beloved yet from his much-needed repose, and then traces his gentle touch back up, till he reaches midway Dean's back, just under his shoulder blade.

Since the first times they'd been intimate, Castiel found Dean's back to be immensely attractive, the smooth planes of hard muscles and soft skin shifting under his palms, Dean's strength playing and humming under his very touch, or the curve towards the bottom when Dean lays on his stomach, pleasant dimples forming in his flesh just above his rear, and Castiel enjoys taking his time, kissing his way down Dean's spine to reach those dimples.

When Dean is relaxed, the spot under his shoulder blades also becomes one of those softer areas, and Castiel now presses his fingers gently into it, enjoying the warmth of his beloved's skin.

Yes, he loves Dean's body much as he loves his soul, though in a different way, but on just as many levels – from vehemence, through attachment and lust, to warm, cosy affection. He sometimes thinks Dean's body was carved specifically to accommodate his beautiful soul.

And each time he thinks that, he is more and more convinced he is absolutely right in that assumption.

He smiles, trailing his fingers back down to the spot on Dean's hip, his favourite of the body fat areas. It's the most supple, the richest and the most enticing, somehow.

"Alright, dude, what the hell?" Dean's rumble stirs him out of his ponderings, and he immediately peers at his beloved, questioning and half-confused.

Dean's eyes open, as he'd kept them closed so far, and he arches an eyebrow upon meeting Castiel's gaze.

"You've been groping me like you're squeezing a melon at a grocery store for the last fifteen minutes," Dean mumbles, a light husk of sleep still touching his voice, but his clear pronunciation suggests he's been awake for a while now. "What's up?"

Castiel shuffles slightly, biting on his lip in hesitance, and apparently sensing his unease, Dean tightens his arm around his waist and pulls him closer, not letting Castiel escape from neither his presence not query. Not that such a course of action lies anywhere in Castiel's plans for the foreseeable future.

"Hm?" Dean prompts, and half-playfully nudges the tip of his nose against Castiel's, as if to communicate he's not at all upset. It eases Castiel's trepidation a little, but does not facilitate his search for a suitable explanation.

"I…" he lingers for a moment, licking his lower lip and catching Dean's eyes tracing the brief movement. "I enjoy your body," he supplies finally.

Dean grins, smug but warm, and pulls Castiel even closer. Castiel comes willingly, into the warmth of Dean's body, the sheets rustling softly around their naked forms as they both shift in the bed for a moment, settling down into full comfort.

"Back at ya," Dean smirks, sliding his hand lower to playfully squeeze at Castiel's buttock, causing him to jerk a little, which in turn serves to broaden the smirk on Dean's face. Merry, golden twinkles of humour and love are crackling in Dean's green eyes, and Castiel is drawn to it with an odd, aching yet pleasant tightness in his chest, where his now human heart beats.

He leans into Dean and kisses him, carried on the wave of this aching affection and an equally aching elation that he is free to kiss Dean now simply on the whim of his affinity for it. Dean's lips are soft and warm, and Castiel can feel them curl against his own in a small smile. He sucks on Dean's lower lip, nibbling on the plump flesh, and feels a swirl of heat in his chest when his beloved lets out a small, deep moan. Dean shifts and hitches his thigh over Castiel's hip, bringing their groins flush together with a rapid flood of pleasure, and it's Castiel's turn to moan as Dean deftly hooks their ankles together.

Dean rocks his hips forward, and Castiel breaks the kiss, leaning his head back with a sighing moan, eyes fluttering closed as another rush of pleasure shoots through him.

"So gorgeous…" Dean murmurs quietly as he drops kisses on the base of Castiel's throat, travelling upwards while they both begin to settle into a rhythm, rocking their hips, sliding their growing erections together. Castiel can feel points of pleasure blooming on his body in different areas – down in his groin, peppered on his throat where Dean presses soft kisses, on his back and sides where Dean's hands wander – and merge together somewhere inside him, sending him into an overwhelming balance between desire and bliss.

He lets his own hands roam over Dean's body, and shifts so he can trade kisses with his beloved again, their lips moving, pressing and suckling, teeth occasionally nipping, and he can feel a pleasuring pressure grow in his chest and the pit of his stomach.

It's usually like this in the mornings – pleasurable, slow, unhurried. Every movement is dragged out, laced with soft caresses, bodies press together warmly, wet kisses linger, breaths puff and mingle. Castiel enjoys each and every sensation, soaking them up and feeling them permeate him, as if he again were a wavelength transcending the world, only this world, the one curled around him and Dean in the safety of their bed, is so much smaller and so much richer than the vast expanse his existence used to sift through.

He tells Dean that later, when they have finished and are laying together, briefly cleaned up, bodies warm and lax with pleasure and relaxation, and Dean gathers him into his arms, pulling him close. He doesn't say anything back, and Castiel doesn't expect him to. They are both incapable of communicating so many ideas through the verbal medium, yet they have found their own language in their Bond, since the very first days of their acquaintance, and it had been steadily growing and expanding as their relationship progressed. He can feel Dean's answer now, in the tightening of his arms around him, in the kisses his beloved drops into his hair slowly for a few moments, in the soft but deep sigh he breathes with eyes tightly closed.

They lie together, and Castiel is soothed with the closeness and tranquillity. He lets his hand wander again, meandering over to rest on Dean's hip, and he presses his fingertips into the soft flesh, enjoying the taut compliance. Dean chuckles.

"Again?"

Castiel thinks for a moment, a flicker of some cognitive light gleaming through the back of his mind, an association of words… an idea to make a joke. He grins a little way, letting his fingers press and play with Dean's flesh.

"I think I have a… _soft spot_ for your soft spots," he words, extremely proud of the wordplay – the pun – he's managed, and Dean lets out a sound chuckle, shaking his head.

"You weirdo," he murmurs and kisses Castiel several times, soft and simple.

Yes, this is peace, and Castiel just takes it in, tangled with Dean in a shared embrace and in the tousled sheets of their bed.

They stay like this for a long time, until Sam comes hammering on the door, yelling for them to get up and get dressed, because he's _not_ coming inside. Dean growls, but Castiel finds a chuckle bubbling up in his chest, reaching his throat and finally spilling out his mouth as he smiles. And this is when he realises, still naked and wrapped in Dean's embrace, what it all means – this sense of peace, the ache in his chest, the bizarre juxtaposition of so many sensations and feelings.

He's happy.

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**I hope you guys liked :) I had fun writing this! I'm kinda iffy about the ending, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless.**

**Reviews make me squeal and twirl on sunny fields in happiness :D**


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